


What a Night For a Dance

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Embarrassment, Humor, M/M, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim tries to strip for Bones. He fails at it pretty spectacularly, so Bones shows him how it's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Night For a Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radiophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiophile/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [今晚，為你而舞](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083985) by [reeei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeei/pseuds/reeei)



> This is for radiophile. I said I’d write her Jim being really bad at trying to strip for Bones, and then Bones showing him how it’s done. Originally posted [here](http://canistakahari.tumblr.com/post/52892807930/what-a-night-for-a-dance-star-trek-reboot-fic).

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to stop right there before you hurt yourself,” interrupts McCoy, sitting up in bed with his hand held out imploringly.  
  
“What? No,” says Jim, his voice muffled by the shirt tangled around his head. His elbow is caught in the sleeve, his belly bared, little tufts of blond hair visible through the collar. “Bones—just sit there and enjoy, okay?”  
  
McCoy sighs and leans back on his elbows. “Darlin’, this is sweet, really it is, but—”  
  
“ _I am doing this_ ,” says Jim firmly, wrenching his shirt off and throwing it violently to the floor. There’s that stubborn bent to his mouth that says he’s locked on course and will refuse to budge even if he’s about to hit a wall, which, great, McCoy is gonna get stuck cleaning up the mess and resulting injuries. What the hell else is new?  
  
“Oh my god,” says McCoy, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Okay.” He gestures at Jim, ignoring his huff and the way he’s very deliberately flexing all his muscles at McCoy. “Continue doing your sexy dance.”  
  
Colour spreads down Jim’s neck, staining his chest. “You better not be laughing,” snaps Jim, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.  
  
“I am definitely not laughing,” says McCoy solemnly. He concentrates on turning the corners of his mouth down instead of up.  
  
Then Jim goes and falls over, his ankles twisted in the material of his underwear, and McCoy can’t suppress the startled bark of laughter that escapes him when Jim hits the floor with an embarrassed thump, he just  _can’t_. He tries, he expends  _real effort_  trying to keep it down, but Jim says, “BONES, YOU PROMISED,” in a pitiful voice and very abruptly McCoy is laughing so hard he can’t even  _speak_.  
  
All he can do is clutch his belly and wave a hand weakly at Jim that’s meant to indicate his fractional level of concern for Jim’s wellbeing (their quarters are carpeted, he’s  _fine_ ) while tears track down his face.  
  
“I hate you,” says Jim from the floor. “I hate you a lot.”  
  
McCoy wheezes, tipping over onto his side in a bid for more air. Jim’s expression is one of pure misery. It just makes the situation even funnier and McCoy loses himself in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.  
  
Finally free of his boxers, Jim throws them at McCoy’s head. He’s rubbing his elbow, cheeks flushed. “You call yourself a doctor? I’m injured here. I’ve pulled, like, six muscles. Whatever happened to ‘do no harm’?”  
  
“Incapacitated by humour,” McCoy manages to say, clawing at the sheets to steady himself. “Nothing I could do!”  
  
“It wasn’t  _that_  funny,” says Jim sullenly. “Like you could do any better.”  
  
“Oh, Jimmy, no,” chuckles McCoy, sitting up and wiping the tears from his eyes as he winds down. “You did not just throw down that gauntlet.” Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he lets out a slow breath. “Don’t you pout at me. Come here, Jim, sit down here on the edge of the bed, and let me show you how it’s done.”  
  
Jim raises his eyebrow. “Are you serious right now? You’re going to give me a lesson on stripping? Is that what’s happening here?”  
  
McCoy gets to his feet and walks over to the computer terminal, clicking through to his music folder. “That’s exactly what’s happening here. Get comfortable.”  
  
A look of suspicion on his face, Jim sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows, mirroring the position McCoy was in.  
  
“Now watch closely,” says McCoy, letting his vowels drag a little, syrupy slow, letting all the booze they’d had at the club suffuse every syllable. He catches Jim’s gaze, eyeing him up and watching the way Jim sucks in a breath in response, his pupils dilating. McCoy grins, lazily flicking open the clasp of his belt. “Computer, [play music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxczVhG0os8).”  
  
The rough, twangy grind of guitar fills the room, and McCoy has done this so many times it’s not even a challenge to fall into the heavy, deliberate beat.  
  
He can see the moment Jim’s jaw drops, his eyes going big and round as McCoy rocks his hips, grinding with an imaginary partner. It would be easier with a pole, but he works with what he’s got, turning his back on Jim as he grabs the hem of his shirt and strips it off smoothly and then tosses it onto the floor.  
  
“Holy fuck,” mumbles Jim under his breath. “Bones, you—”  
  
“Shush,” darlin’,” says McCoy, turning back around and dropping to his knees. Jim’s stunned gaze zeroes right in on the crotch of his jeans. McCoy tosses his head back and tugs off his belt, looking at Jim from under his lashes, taking in the way he’s frozen in place, fisting the blankets in white-knuckled hands, his dick hard, little twitches of restrained motion in the muscles of his thighs.  
  
“You look like you’re holding back,” murmurs McCoy. “Awfully unlike you.”  
  
Jim swallows hard, throat bobbing. “How do you even gain these skills?” he says, voice like paper. He licks his lips and McCoy drops onto his hands to close the distance between them, Jim sucking in a surprised gasp as Bones ends up between his legs. “Is this standard medical training?”  
  
“You take a class,” drawls McCoy, leaning back on his haunches, grasping an end of his belt in either hand. “You get a summer job. I dunno, Jim, what do you think?"  
  
“Ohhh,” breathes Jim. “Of course. That’s not completely out of line with my image of you at  _all_.”  
  
“Hold still,” says McCoy, hooking the belt behind Jim’s head and using it to reel him in, drawing him down for a hard, messy kiss. Jim winds a hand into his hair, grip tight, holding McCoy in place.  
  
“Fuck, Bones,” he breathes when they pull away. His lips are shiny pink, eyes half-lidded. “You are full of surprises.”  
  
“And you’re about to get your dick sucked,” says McCoy. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Jim, stifling a moan.  
  
McCoy lets go of the belt, letting it fall to the mattress, before bracing himself on Jim’s knees. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”  
  
Jim’s about to reply, but then McCoy gets his mouth on his dick, and that’s pretty much the end of that.


End file.
